


Some Monster Loose (In Your Beautiful World)

by thesacredgrove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Angels, Artisanal Lemon, Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Bottom!Cas, Castiel in Purgatory, Dean in Purgatory, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Lemon, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Benny Lafitte, Porn With Plot, Power Bottom Castiel, Purgatory, Smut, Top Dean, all the feels, sort of canon divergent, switch!dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesacredgrove/pseuds/thesacredgrove
Summary: For Cas, Purgatory vibrated with the pure baseline need of everything trapped within it: pure need to run, pure need to devour, pure need to survive.What Castiel felt coming from Dean was a very different kind of need.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/gifts), [through_shadows_falling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/gifts), [GreenCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenCrow/gifts), [DarkHeartInTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/gifts), [static_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/gifts), [raths_kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raths_kitten/gifts), [randomdestielfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdestielfangirl/gifts), [kototyph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/gifts), [KittyAug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/gifts), [kuwlshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwlshadow/gifts).



> I slaved over this fic, but my giftee dropped out!  
> So this one goes out to ALL our pinch-hitters who stepped up to the plate when others skipped out, making it so EVERYONE (including myself) got a gift!  
> Thank you ALL for your hard work!  
> I hope you like explicit Purgatory-feels smut and angst! <3 <3 <3

__

  _I came to You late, O Beauty so ancient and new._ _I came to love You late._  
_You were within me and I was outside where I rushed about wildly searching for You like some monster loose in Your beautiful world._  
_You were with me but I was not with You._ _You called me, You shouted to me, You wrapped me in Your Splendour, You broke past my deafness, You bathed me in Your Light, You sent my blindness reeling._ _You gave out such a delightful fragrance and I drew it in and came breathing hard after You._  
_I tasted, and it made me hunger and thirst; You touched me, and I burned to know Your Peace._

 _-_ St. Augustine of Hippo

* * *

 

There was no sun in this place; no moon or stars. There wasn't even proper dark: just endless shades of twilight, the rotting gray of trees and the constant howling of what used to be wolves.

Dean didn't care about any of that. For him, there were only thoughts of Cas. The angel filled his mind, leaving room for little else. It had been that way for a while now.

The man lay stretched out on the moss, pretending to sleep, trying to remember exactly _how long_ it had been this way.

A long time.

He was cold and tired, so goddamned tired, but sleep wouldn't come. They'd found a protected spot to camp for the night - a rocky outcropping, big enough for both of them to shelter beneath - and Castiel was even on watch, just in case anything came back sooner than expected.

But Dean still couldn't sleep.

The hunter had no trouble admitting to himself why: he was terrified. Not of the monsters here, with all their teeth and claws and blood, though.

Nah - they were cake.

What he was afraid of was waking up and finding Cas gone.

The man had bailed enough times on enough people to know what it looked like. He knew Castiel was about to pull a Dean Winchester and evaporate into the gray haze of this place like a frightened animal. And he knew nothing he could say or do would even slow the angel down.

Almost nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

“My presence is making this place too dangerous for you, Dean,” Castiel had said earlier that day, wrapping a makeshift bandage across the man's chest. His powers were limited here - he could not heal the wound Dean had just received.

Another item on a long list of failures.

Feather-light, he ran fabric and fingers over the hunter's bare skin, lingering over the angry gash.

"If I do not leave, you will be ripped to shreds before you can escape.”

The two of them had been in Purgatory long enough to realize they were signal flares for all the hungry, broken things here – especially Cas. A human was a curiosity, but an angel - a Seraph, at that - was a  _prize_. Because of that, Castiel was a beacon for every monster, lost soul and primordial beast on this plane, all of them throwing everything they had at the pair almost non-stop. Their only respite was the occasional break, like now: after especially large attacks, the  _things_  would often fall back to regroup.

The fighting was getting them exactly nowhere and growing worse all the time. Every day here was two bloody steps forward and three back, and they were no closer to finding a way out than they'd been when they arrived.

Cas knew he was the problem: all of this was his fault. He also knew Dean's best chance of escape - his only chance - was on his own.

He had to leave the man before it was too late.

“Dammit Cas, that is  _bullshit_!“ The hunter cursed, frustrated. The thought that everyone eventually abandons him grazed his lips, but he didn't give it voice.

The angel let the untied ends of the man's bandage dangle from his fingers as he looked down at the ground.

"I see no bovine excrement here, Dean," he said. 

The hunter was in no mood. He brushed Cas' hands from the trauma he could not mend, winced at the exertion, but was silent.

Castiel did not let the silence linger; he picked up his argument where he'd left it.

“You may have a chance of escape, but not with a Seraph." The angel turned away, pausing to correct himself, "Not with _me_."

Dean shook his head hard - a stubborn child. “I am  _not_  going  _anywhere_  without you, Cas.” Gritting his teeth against the pain he felt, the man had almost convinced himself it was just the soreness of his injury bothering him so much.

"I will be your end, Dean." The emotionless confidence Castiel exuded had not actually been possessed by him for some time.

Taking a deep breath in, the hunter let it out shouting.

 _"We_  are finding a way out of here, Cas!  _You_  and  _me!_   Winchesters  _do not_  leave family behind!”

A small part of Dean still believed that, but the words scratched his throat when he yelled them nonetheless.

“ _No way_  am I leaving without you! Do you understand?”

It was not a question.

Locking eyes with the angel, Dean continued, softening.

“We're  _family_ , Cas. Family sticks together.”

 _Family_.

Nodding quick, Castiel turned away again. It hurt too much to look at Dean when he was doing this. It was much easier to just play along with the man's denial when he wasn't looking directly into those eyes of his – galaxies spinning on fire, hotter than the Hell he'd pulled him from so long ago.

The angel knew it was not simply The Winchester Duty To Family that fueled this display. Dean pretending that's all it was wounded him. The man's feelings for him were the only color in this endless monochrome nightmare: crimson red against neverending gray and black. Sometimes they were blinding. How could Dean deny them - still? To himself? To Cas? The angel did not know.

Castiel had long ago come to terms with his strong emotions for the hunter, and had stopped being fooled by Dean's inability to admit similar feelings for a while now.

He tried to remember exactly _how long_ he'd known the truth.

A long time.

As a servant of Heaven, Castiel had always been able to sense thoughts and feelings to varying degrees. Being in Purgatory had increased that ability: the pure savagery of this place amplified it a thousand-fold. Was it some sort of Angelic Radar? He didn't know, but from day one, he'd been unwillingly tuned in to all the beings in this gray place; he felt each as they neared: the brutal instincts and primal emotions carried like torches by every last one of them.

That included Dean.

For Cas, Purgatory vibrated with the pure baseline need of everything trapped within it: pure need to run, pure need to devour, pure need to survive.

What Castiel felt coming from Dean was a very different kind of need.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sat up with a start. He had just drifted off to sleep when something in the distance startled him awake.

He found Cas disappearing into the forest. The angel had no need to walk, Dean knew. He could have transported himself out without a sound. Instead, he was leaving on foot. Dean wondered if the angel wanted to be discovered. He also wondered if Cas would show a scrap of regret before departing.

Broken and silent, the man crouched - watching and waiting.

“A Seraph in Purgatory is a dangerous thing, Dean,” the angel said, turning his head a fraction in the hunter's direction, “Too dangerous a thing for a human to be near. Even you.”

Dean rose but did not move closer.

“You don't have to run,” he said. After everything they'd been through, this was the last straw. The man was coming undone.

The angel looked at his shoes.

“I am _protecting_ you, Dean.” Cas did not look up as he spoke. “You _must_ understand that _._ ”

The sadness in the Seraph's voice hit Dean in the chest like buckshot. He shook his head, wanting to lash out against the thing making him feel, but did not have the heart to do so. A familiar sensation began to spread through the man from the pit of his stomach; it was well-known after so long: desperate resignation. It sickened him but also softened him against his own nature.

“You don't have to _leave._ ” Uncharacteristically hesitant, Dean whispered while taking a cautious step forward.

Castiel craned his neck another quarter turn, just enough to spy the man over his shoulder. Their eyes met, each of them seeing a haunted silhouette profiled dark against the trees behind it.

“I don't _want_ to, Dean.” Cas heard his own voice waiver. He knew that neither the man's feelings for him, nor his for Dean, could change the truth of their situation. The angel turned himself to stone again.

“But I must,” Cas said, “One of us has to.”

The feeling of hopelessness in Dean's core spread through his entire body. He was 8 years old again – terrified and pretending to be strong but quickly unraveling.

Castiel tried to look away but he was watching a star implode. Powerful, beautiful, fragile. The man made him feel emotions he had no names for. He choked on his thoughts and finally wrenched his eyes away from the hunter, closing them as Dean scrutinized his face.

“I _need_ you, Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel flinched.

“I've done enough damage,” the angel's voice was crippled. He accused himself of so much without saying it aloud.

The man collapsed a little more with every halting syllable that left Castiel's mouth. He was nearly voiceless himself as he took another half-step forward.

“We can make it right, Cas,” The man had never spoken so softly or so desperately. It was far more tenderness than Castiel felt he deserved.

“We always do,” Dean breathed.

The weight of the hunter's words made the angel shrink. Still pitch black in profile against the mist in the distance, to Dean he suddenly looked so much smaller than before - a child wearing its father's coat.

“We have become trapped here because of _me_ , Dean,” Castiel was full of shame, his borrowed body shrinking even more as he spoke, “ _You_ are trapped here because of _me_.” He turned his back to the man once more, deflating fully as he finished his thought, “You will never escape Purgatory if I am at your side. Was today not enough to prove that to you?”

The hunter touched his chest, remembering the attack earlier today and his injury. He'd already disregarded both despite their viciousness, the growing despair inside making him frantic and forgetful. The hunter knew those _things_ had been coming for Cas moreso than him – the angel knew it, too - but Dean didn't care. He didn't care about _anything_ anymore.

He closed the distance between himself and Castiel with one bold stride.

“Dammit Cas! We _will_ get out of here – _together!_ ”

Grasping at straws now, the man was far too loud. He let silence hang thick in the air for a moment in stark contrast. Off in the distance, something howled.

Through the quiet, the angel whispered Dean's name. He mouthed it like a prayer and hung his head in disgrace.

“I don't deserve to get out of here,” Castiel whispered.

The hunter was instantly angry but that didn't last long. One look at Cas and his heart was broken for the angel. He knew exactly how he felt.

Dean took a jagged breath in and looked away, swallowing hard. The moist air in his throat and the words fighting their way out were the only things pushing down his tears.

“I didn't deserve to be saved either, Cas,” Dean's voice was small - so small, “Remember? But somebody came along and did it anyway.”

Castiel raised his eyes to meet the man's then and Dean almost lost it entirely. His face contorted and he let out a sound like a wounded animal as the angel took a step forward and gripped his shoulder in a very familiar spot.

“You _did_ deserve it, Dean,” his words urgent, Castiel's watery blue eyes were mere inches from the hunter's now. The angel's stare pierced the man straight through.

“Pulling you out of Hell is the only thing I have _ever_ done right.”

Cas had moved so close, the warm air of his words brushed Dean's temple. The tears the man had tried to strangle chose this moment to slip hot down his cheek. They burned him as they fell; he turned away ashamed as it began to rain. Castiel watched liquid sadness mix with silver drizzle for a moment before moving to wipe both from the hunter's face. He gently turned the man's chin toward him.

“Stay with me, Angel,” Dean's words were barely a whisper beneath Castiel's fingertips.

Their eyes locked again; Man and Seraph stood in the damp, staring at each other for what felt like forever.

“ _Promise you won't leave me,_ ” Dean thought, hoping he was right and that Castiel could hear him so he wouldn't be forced to give voice to this desperation, “ _Please, Cas._ ”

The angel couldn't do this - any of this - a minute more.

“I love you too much to be able to promise that, Dean,” Castiel replied aloud.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stood motionless for a moment, gradually realizing he hadn't imagined the words. Before he knew it, his legs folded under him as he crumbled to the ground - a demolished building. Castiel followed him down, falling to his knees next to Dean and grasping at the man's jacket to keep him upright.

The hunter was strong, but this was too much. He was stunned. So many nights had passed between them, cold. Years of words unsaid. Prayers unanswered. It couldn't possibly be true. How? _When_?

“Always,” Cas said, reading the hunter's face and not his thoughts. “ _Always,_ ” he repeated, smoothing rain and tears from Dean's face once more.

Mountains form slowly over time; this one had been no different. But what had grown as a glacier between man and angel turned volcanic in an instant and began to erupt. Want and need mixed hot and every ounce of guilt and denial and heartache melted as their lips crashed together, finally.

 _Finally_.

It was as perfect as a thing this long coming could be in this place. Each closed his eyes, took one of the other's lips between his own, mellow as Spring. Those lips parted breathless, tongues languid with shock and delight and a thousand other feelings that don't have names. One small lick became two and three and four in matched pairs, curious mouth to curious mouth. Noses brushed, cheeks of stubble and scruff rubbed together, one of them made small animals sounds.

Neither of them knew who.

Cas was not entirely new to these actions or sensations, but touching his lips to Dean's was unlike anything he'd felt before. An electric bolt shot through him; the ground moved. Unsteady but unafraid, he opened himself to Dean, more desperate than delicate now as the tenderness of their kiss turned hungrier than either of them had expected. The last gray mists in Castiel's heart turned to ash as he felt himself pass through thaw and head straight to burning beneath Dean's hot tears.

Heartache, loneliness, pain, fear, disbelief, desire. Dean kept so much inside, but once these floodgates opened, there was no closing them again. In an instant, _nothing_ mattered except _this_. Fuck Heaven. Fuck Earth: Her monsters and men. Fuck this place and the God that made it all - _none_ of it was of any consequence to him. Here, now, was only Castiel and this unbelievable moment. Dean gave himself over to it like he was taking a drink, lost himself in the soft soft _soft_ oblivion of it like alcohol, but took all of what the angel had to give in equal measure. Tongue over teeth, he nipped and pecked at Cas who replied in kind with a fierce affection Dean knew he did not deserve.

“You _do_ deserve it, Dean,” Castiel said, withdrawing himself just long enough to press his lips to the man's chin and jaw between words, “I am the undeserving one.”

Dean's head was spinning. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry again, so he did a little of both. Reaching for the angel, he cradled that scruffy face in his hands and looked into his eyes – the sky in October stared back at him. Sandpaper stubble slipped rough under the pads of Dean's thumbs and the man was grateful for it. He returned his lips to Cas' and the world was filled once more with sweetness and velvet, pliant and gentle and so goddamned soft he thought he might go mad. Weightless and chaste, he moved his mouth over the angel's until Castiel pressed him for more – not gentle now, his tongue pushed over the man's, chasing it out then back again, hard.

“I won't let you go, Cas,” Dean whispered between kisses, the angel's open mouth pursuing his and begging for more, “ _I_ _can't_.”

Castiel licked at Dean's lower lip but did not respond. Instead, he pulled himself from the ground in one smooth motion and brought the man up with him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Their shelter was secluded; walking back to its relative safety with arms and lips entwined, they were cloaked in each other like the lovers they should have become years ago. Jagged granite and a low-smoldering fire welcomed them, the sight of their Spartan camp snapping Dean back to the reality of this place. Castiel felt the warmth drain from the man, his hands turning to ice. He squeezed them, touched his lips to Dean's again, reminding him without words that there'd be time enough to reflect on this gray hell - later.

Hand in hand, they moved instinctively toward the mossy area Dean had claimed for himself near the fire. Attached to the angel by the mouth, the man stretched to remove his jacket - flexing his chest, he winced, having forgotten again his wound from earlier. Before Dean could finish, Castiel interrupted by peeling the distressed leather from his shoulders. The heavy cloth landed with a thud as he started on the shirt beneath - after taking that too, the angel just as unceremoniously tossed it to the cave floor and placed a hand light to the man's solar plexus.

Dean felt warmth pass through both his bandage and the thin tee he still wore. Heat poured from the angel, soothing and intoxicating all at once; whether it was celestial in origin or just perceived as such mattered little to the man as he moved in rough, cradling the Seraph's jaw in both hands and kissing him deep in one fluid motion. He closed his eyes, pressing the full length of his body to Castiel in a furious attempt to feel more of that heat. 

Though he lacked the ability to heal, Cas at least had warmth and comfort at his disposal: he flooded the hunter with both. Dean's reaction was strong and Castiel melted under him just as strongly, instantly overcome with want and need and a hundred other things he couldn't identify. Dropping to his knees, the angel moved quick to work open the worn brass buckle of the man's belt.

Dean was stunned, nearly paralyzed with shock. He took half a beat and a breath for himself then shook his head frantic, stopping Castiel with hands and words.

“Cas, you've served enough,” Still shaking his head, Dean dropped as well, met the angel on equal ground and looked him in the eyes.

“ _What do you want?”_  he asked the Seraph without speaking, _“What can I give you?”_

Castiel pulled the hunter into an embrace and crushed their lips together, this kiss somehow more powerful than those before. Dean stripped the angel's khaki jacket without breaking away, placed it beside them. After a moment, Cas paused just long enough to speak, breathless.

His words were simple.

“I want you here, Dean,” he gestured to the threadbare hospital shirt covering him, but really to what lay beneath it, “Inside my vessel with me. I _need_ you inside me.” The angel tilted his head, eyes half-squinting in the half-light, and Dean was demolished all over again.

The man denied his lovers nothing when it came to their pleasure, and with it his own. He was comfortable as whatever Cas needed him to be, doing whatever the angel wanted, from now until the end of time. But he was so taken aback by this – and above all else, _so damned undeserving of it –_ he hardly knew what to do.

Nothing came out when the hunter opened his mouth to speak. Castiel instead spoke up again, putting voice to what Dean had intended to say himself.

“I don't deserve it.”

The angel hung his head low once more beneath the shame of his failures. He was a broken doll, lost in the twilight of this place.

Dean tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat: again, speechless. The hunter instead just shook his head, sick with longing and heartsick for the angel he'd denied so long. A single tear returned to his eye - gathered there but did not fall.

With a reverence that surprised him, Dean reached forward and pulled Cas' chin up with one finger, forcing the angel to look him in the eyes. He saw firelight reflected in Castiel's sky-blue, its dance cutting the intensity of his gaze and bathing the man's already hot thoughts in warm reds and oranges. The pair remained unmoving until Dean finally stirred, tugging at Cas' wide v-neck but refusing to break their eye contact.

The man did not need to read minds to know what was going through the angel's. Blood rushed to Dean's sex in a wave as he coaxed Cas' arms up, yanked the shirt up and off and pitched it to the mossy floor.

Dean allowed himself to drink in the sight of a topless Castiel for a split second before he began to run his hands over the Seraph's borrowed body. Warming to reality, the man did not get far before losing all ten fingers in Cas' mess of hair; the angel blossomed, rubbing up against his palms like a kitten. Dean finally broke their eye contact and put his mouth to the angel's bare skin, tongue straying to the hollow of Castiel's collarbone and running deliberate along its ridge. Cas gasped and the hunter needed to taste it - he touched their lips together again, so so soft but urgent.

Castiel was desperate to be closer to the man. He pressed his chest against the hunter, felt Dean's heart pounding against him. The angel pulled at the dark tee between them, eager to strip the man and share nakedness with him. Eager to please, Dean grabbed at the fabric covering him and jerked it sharp over his head - too fast. He grimaced again and the angel leaned forward concerned, pressing his palm to the uncovered bandage where it had begun to show red.

The hunter wasn't worried about the wound – he instead busied himself by returning his mouth to the angel's skin. He licked at Cas' jaw, moved over it to the line below his ear, followed it to his collar. Mouth busy, the hunter's hands both tripped down the angel's torso, over his ribs on their way to his waist. As Dean pulled at the band of the angel's pants, he found himself just brushing against the steel awaiting him beneath.

Cas was _hard_. For _him_. Dean reeled; he wasn't sure what he'd expected, but feeling something this _physical_ from something _so ethereal_ shocked him nonetheless. He leaned into the angel, sighing against his neck, so flush with want himself now. Snaking a hand through layers of dingy cotton, Dean slipped between the angel's legs to find his earthy prize.

 _So hard._ Both man and Seraph moaned as the hunter wrapped his fist around Cas' length: Dean's voice was rough and breathy, while Castiel whispered words the man could not decipher. The sound coming from the heavenly creature was one Dean had never heard, but having heard it now – knew he could never again live without. Delphic and sensuous, it rang in his ears as he grabbed again at the thickness in his fist, tugged and squeezed.

The angel had tasted pleasure a few times, but not like this: this was _Dean._ After all this time – _Dean_. He'd already ruined so much - Cas simply could not let his weakness destroy this man as well.

The man he loved.

It was all finally out in the open, but for the worst reasons possible.

He called out again in the ancient language of Heaven, praying for strength; Dean touched the angel's lips, kissed at his open mouth. Castiel ran his hands over the hunter's chest – again upset that he could do nothing to heal him in this place - and also over the man's arms, straining now to untie the Gordian Knot of the angel's drawstring.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean stretched the elastic of Cas' pants out and over the length they hid, beyond all the shock of this now and onto something much stronger, more familiar. He wrenched the fabric down, rougher than he'd intended, and refused to take his mouth from Castiel's. The angel replied by kissing him both harder and more sweetly than the man had any right to expect. After a moment of almost teenaged fumbling, Cas' cock finally swung free and the man moaned loud to both see and feel it's length unencumbered.

To say Dean was surprised by the sight of Castiel's borrowed manhood would be inaccurate. He could sometimes tell by the way the angel moved that his rumpled clothing hid something formidable, but the man's thoughts beyond that point had never been concrete. Just as he sometimes pondered how amazingly tight the angel's ass must be to fuck, he also sometimes thought about how heavy Cas' dick might be in his hands, how far it might stretch his lips, or what kind of amazing sensations being skewered by its length might bring - but the man never thought too much about how it might _look_.

That being said, Dean was pleased as all Hell. It was fucking beautiful. He couldn't help but smile like an idiot at the angel who - to his credit - was incredibly humble. It suddenly occurred to Dean that he wouldn't know how not to be. The man ran a single finger over Cas' stony flesh and it bucked under him. Again - so so smooth and slow - he dragged that one finger from the underside to the head and Castiel sighed, throwing his head back and breathing Dean's name toward the sky.

The fire popped, the crackling and shifting of its logs nearly drowning out the angel as Dean traded one finger for his whole hand. He slid his fist back and forth over the angel's length and Castiel could stay neither still nor silent. Alternating between kissing the man and whimpering into his open mouth, he eventually made a move for the hunter's belt. Amid those kisses and small noises of pleasure, the Seraph managed at length to finally unfasten its metal hook.

Cas began to explore further but didn't get far before Dean sent his lips out along the angel's chest. The hunter stopped briefly to bite at one nipple and Castiel began to pant, a new sensation of pleasure shooting through him - and with him, through Dean. The man reached between his own legs now, grabbed at the weight there tenting his slacks, mouth continuing down the angel's body. He chased after Cas' skin with his tongue, found and followed the hollow line of one hip down the arrow it made until his nose brushed against a so soft patch of hair.

Dean took a heavy breath in but paused to coax Cas' pants all the way off. The angel sat himself on his coat as Dean fumbled the hospital cotton down over his knees followed by the Seraph's shoes and socks.

Sprawled out like a Michelangelo, Castiel was naked and unashamed; Dean took in the sight as a man dying of thirst. He had trouble imagining anything so beautiful - he shook his head in disbelief at his good fortune and left his hands to flow all over the angel's frame. Bending low to kiss Cas' face, his mouth, the angel rose to meet him; their lips crashed again like waves to the shore, both of them with fingers following tongues, touching everything, twirling together.

Cas eventually strayed to Dean's slacks again and the man let him finish what he'd started. The angel unbuttoned them, seeking hardness and pleasure for his human beneath. Dean couldn't help himself - he aided Castiel and wrenched his manhood fully free of the cotton, pushed at the fabric until he swung out of its prison, swaying heavy left and right.

The angel's lips parted and he sighed, looking from the man's heft to his face and back again, squirming as his own cock grew harder than before. Dean smiled, stroking himself slowly and Cas watched rapt, whispering his name over and over.

Dean did not retreat from the scrutiny but instead doubled-down, his movements deliberate as a dancer's on a stage. He repeated the angel's name under his breath and above it, almost as a chant, and Cas knew it wasn't the first time the man had touched himself with the word on his lips. Reaching out his free hand, Dean passed it back over the soft cloud of hair he'd found under the angel's waistband, and then over the thick sex that sprung from it, still gripping himself tight in the other fist.

Castiel moaned, his cock quivering while a single drop of clear liquid formed at the tip. He gasped again, this time in disbelief as he watched Dean take that bead of pleasure on a finger and stretch it from its home to the hunter's open mouth. Extending his tongue, Dean tasted it and smiled, and the angel cried to watch it happen - so loud and so hard that Dean had to kiss him to quiet his sounds of pleasure.

The man sought more of that, straight from the source. His own dick throbbed as he moved quick to face Cas' cock, and again when he nuzzled it with his nose.

This close, Dean suddenly couldn't remember a world where he didn't know the angel's size and shape, now seared into his memory forever. This thought, coupled with the warmth of his breath, made Castiel shudder and the man smile huge. He ran that smiling mouth from base to tip up the angel's length, stroking himself in earnest now and moaning against the angel's sex. Inhaling deep, Dean memorized the angel's scent, determined to commit that to memory as well. He kissed his way down and up the shaft again and again, dragging his tongue along, finally pausing at the tip. Parting his lips, he took it into his mouth.

A hundred times - a thousand times. No matter how many times it had been or would ever be for Dean, it was never like this - would never be like this again. The man literally wept at how perfect this was, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he introduced the angel's length to his mouth. He gripped it in his free hand, moved himself back and forth over it, slow and steady, learning to work its shape as far between his lips as he could. Stumbling on the tender spot underneath where Cas most liked attention, the hunter was gentle but relentless, running the tip of his tongue along that soft bundle of nerves near the head.

Castiel was ruined already. Exhaling, his hands flew to the back of the man's head, gripping so so light and sweet. He knew no words in human language to describe this experience. All he could muster was a low growl as he pulled at Dean's hair. The short wheat-colored mane under his hands was soothing as the hunter pressed him far into his mouth. Every kiss and lick introduced the angel to an entirely new set of experiences without definition. Before long, he'd nearly lost his voice and all concepts of time.

The man fucking loved this. He lived for it. Giving pleasure - not receiving it - was really Dean's reason for enjoying sex so much. They went hand in hand for him: he found no joy in simply taking. He was hardly as selfish as he sometimes pretended to be, and anyone who really knew him realized he was not just a 'ladies man': he was equally comfortable with lovers of any gender, and was happy to be in whatever role the situation dictated.

'Happy' wasn't a big enough word for what was transpiring now. Having Castiel in his mouth renewed Dean's belief in God: being with Cas like this, knowing him like this, in the sick half-light of this place, felt so pure, so right, so good, but also so deliciously blasphemous to Dean that there _had_ to be a God somewhere. The man still didn't care. He would have done this no matter the cost or consequence. He needed Cas like air, and he finally needed to show the angel what that had come to mean.

Right now, it meant a sore throat and an angelcock covered in the thickest of thick spit. Dean's jaw ached after a time – the _second_ best kind of ache - from taking Cas deep. He was trashed, drunk on but still chasing the feeling of that thick head just brushing his airway: the sensation made Dean's dick throb – the _very_ best kind of ache – and he only stopped stroking himself long enough to back away when the edge grazed him like a knifepoint.

To Castiel, everything Dean did felt like the sun caressing his skin. The man set the angel ablaze. There was something about all of this that he could not identify: something deeper, something _more .._. something that made this more special, more meaningful than anything he had ever known.

Cas knew these acts were very personal, very private, and also very important - but he quickly learned they were also very sacred.

The angel reached for and cradled Dean's face; the man glanced up at him but did not stop his work. He studied Dean, his eyes wet as he watched the man work at pleasuring him with such devotion. He ran a fingertip against Dean's lips, followed the thickness of his cock as it disappeared between them one more time before he spoke.

“I don't deserve this,” Castiel said.

Dean pitched his gaze hard and looked up the length of Cas' torso; their eyes locked and they both dissolved.

The angel had been over all of Heaven and Earth - and everything between. In all of it, he had never seen anything as beautiful as this: this man, here, now, his only desire to comfort and to please.

A hundred thousand fires lit inside of Castiel at once.

“I love you, Dean,” his voice ached, “I love you.”

The hunter suddenly felt incredibly selfish. He let go of himself first, then withdrew from Cas slowly. He rested his damp cheek against the angel's thigh and closed his eyes.

Cas had given him so much – had given up so much for him.

He had only one thing to say to the angel in reply. The only thing that mattered.

He opened his mouth.

Again, he could not speak.

Dean could not say it. The man felt it - goddammit, did he feel it, and he planned to _show_ the angel - but he couldn't make himself say it.

_Everything Dean had ever loved had left him._

“I know,” Castiel said.

_Or died._

“I'm sorry, Dean,” the angel continued, feeling guilty for hearing the man's pain uninvited.

“ _Maybe -_ ” Dean thought, “ _Maybe, if I don't say it -”_

Cas pulled Dean to him then, enveloped him in an embrace. Turning to face the man, he sprawled him out beside him on the moss and khaki linen.

“ _Maybe, if I don't say it, he won't leave.”_

Dean curled into a ball. The angel ran his fingers through the man's hair for what felt like forever. He knew Dean's mother used to do this for him many years ago; he knew the hunter sometimes did it for a young Sammy when the boy was too scared to sleep.

Cas whispered again, his voice even softer this time.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

Unuttered pain fell as tears from Dean's eyes.

They made the man incredibly mad. 


	7. Chapter 7

The pair lay face-to-face, half folded together, half draped over each other, arms and legs tangled in silence for some time. Castiel let Dean come back to himself at his own pace, showering him in kisses quiet and soft. Before long, those kisses turned into lightning strikes and the angel began to touch himself, electrified. Such a corporeal show shocked the man again; Cas used it as a distraction while he started after Dean's manhood once more. Finally getting to it, he used both hands to push the remaining fabric of Dean's clothes down his thighs, over his knees, as far down as he could with the man kicking it and his shoes and socks away.

Bare now with his lover and having fallen back into himself, it was the hunter's turn to pull his angel into a kiss. He ran his tongue along Castiel's, nipped at his teeth and jaw as their cocks whispered against each other. Cas bucked against Dean, desperate to be touched, connected, muttering the man's name as he put his hands on the hunter's body again. He passed them over his chest, muscles marred by trauma new and old and half a bandage rusted through.

It was a joke to Dean, this bandage he'd made: short, tattered pieces of torn fabric haphazardly wrapped and tied, barely holding itself together let alone holding _him_ together. He ripped it off, tossed its uselessness away, truly baring all of himself now: his chest and with it his wound.

Castiel was not shy. He kissed and bit at the man's flesh as it was offered up to him, caked blood and all. Tasting iron under his lips, he was not turned away by the cut but instead aroused by it; the intimacy of it - of Dean's willingness to share it with him - carried him away. He caressed it, hovered and doted over it, put his mouth to it as he would the rest of this man's body before they were through. Metallic salt met his tongue, a jolt of pleasure unexpectedly coursing through him, and through Dean as well.

Painfully hard, with Castiel's mouth on his broken skin making it worse, Dean grabbed for the angel's thickness in a mad dash, just inches from his own now.

“Do you like this, Cas?” he asked, clutching the angel's dick and bringing his own even closer. Rubbing the full head of his manhood against the Seraph, he took both of their cocks up in one hand and squeezed them together.

Castiel nodded, shuddering and rutting against Dean's fingers, but was mute. The man pressed his mouth to the angel's as a hot poem and Cas finally opened up, fucking into Dean's fist. He dragged his length against the hunter's who gasped, still gripping them both. Replying with his own hands all over, Cas grabbed at Dean's face and arms and finally at his cock, pressed so hard to his own.

He kissed the man, teased him with his tongue, curled his fingers around all their flesh and squeezed. They caressed each other, sliding themselves together like teenagers for longer than made sense. Eventually, the angel began to slow himself, folded himself in half, licking his way down the man's body. He followed stark lines of muscle from collar to waist until he finally found Dean's manhood awaiting his lips.

“Cas, ” the hunter's voice was barely a whisper, “You don't have to.” A hint of worry colored his voice.

The angel shook his head. He was acutely aware of his lack of experience in the acts of love. Far less versed than Dean, he'd had some initial reservations about all of this. They were dissolved like so much salt in water now: this incandescent heat having burned them all away. This was a holy act, Castiel knew. At this point, the angel was almost in pain not doing more, not sharing more of himself with Dean. He wanted this - more than he'd ever wanted anything.

“But I do, Dean,” the angel replied.

Castiel found what he sought, shaking just a hint as he brought his hands and his mouth to Dean's rock solid flesh. Tentative but eager, he kissed at the man's weight, heavy under his lips. He found it even heavier between them as he wrapped his tongue around the hunter, brought him into his warmth. His touch was firm but tender as he gripped from below, showering attention on delicate areas there as well, ignoring nothing in this sacred exchange.

Dean was very vocal. He cursed like a sailor but curled his body around Castiel as delicate as a closing flower. Becoming louder as the angel continued, his hands cascaded over Cas, obsessively tracing the place on his back where wings would be. As the Seraph played - sucked and licked and learned him – the man began cursing and crying out even more, quickly catching fire.

“Goddammit, Cas,” the man smiled, frivolous with pleasure, “I wish I'd known you felt this way before.”

Dean had meant nothing serious by the comment, except that he was very much enjoying himself. However, the angel slowed a moment and paused to answer him, his mouth still pressed to the hunter's heat.

“I tried to tell you, Dean.” 

Dean wasn't sure if the angel's lips on his cock made him forgetful, or if he really had no idea what Castiel was talking about.

“I've loved you since I pulled you out of Hell,” the angel explained, warm breath dancing on the man's flesh, “I tried to tell you then. In my own language. I thought you might understand me. You didn't.”

The grief in Cas' voice cut Dean to the bone. He instantly remembered the time, so long ago now, when Castiel had tried to speak to him in his own voice and was denied.

How very hurt the angel must have been. And he'd been carrying that all this time.

The hunter touched his hands to the back of Castiel's head, ran his fingers through the angel's hair.

The man was home.

“I do now, Cas,” Dean breathed slow, “I do now.”

The Seraph tilted his face up to the man who was already looking down at him, eyes wet with a bittersweet expression on his face.

“I'd go through it all again, Angel,” Dean choked on the emotions stuck in his throat, “All of it. I'd go back to Hell in a goddamned heartbeat if it meant I would hear you that day.”

Castiel reached for the hunter and the man kissed his open palm.

“Put yourself inside me, Dean,” Cas begged, “ _Please._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

The hunter's movement was instantaneous and fluid. He turned Castiel square onto his back, lifted him and centered him on his coat in one smooth motion. Spreading the angel's legs, Dean knelt between Cas' knees and - hovering above him - just _stared_.

What a sight this was. The man found himself having almost forgotten what was actually happening here: Heaven itself was opening for him - just for him. His cock jumped and Dean was careful to brand this image into his memory, along with all the other moments from tonight, before Time turned frenetic – which it was about to do.

Years they had spent, building to this moment.

 _Years_.

Dean dropped kisses up both of Cas' legs, pushed the Seraph's thighs and cheeks apart as far as he could. He buried his face between them and licked at all the soft skin he found - all of it, focusing on the angel's ass. The man lapped at the sweet ring he found there, plunged his tongue in it. In an instant, he put two fingers to Castiel's mouth, begged the angel to suck on them and he did so between gasps and moans. The hunter took them newly wet back to that tight hole - so _so_ hot and sweet and _so fucking tight_ – and, licking again, relaxed Castiel enough to put one of them inside.

Cas cried out as his body jerked beneath him: the man cooed, soothing, but did not let up. Instead, he slipped another finger in and the angel stretched to take him, panting. Castiel's cock was weeping now and Dean pulled at the wet length of it with his other hand, dipping low to also taste that liquid pleasure. Drop after drop spawned on his tongue and he lapped at it over and over, gripping gripping _gripping_. Cas called his name and he was spurred on, taking that sweet length into his mouth further, and curling his fingers deep inside.

The angel clutched the man's thighs hard with want, begging; Dean's dick ached. After a moment he reluctantly pulled himself away, ready to continue.

“Cas,” the man was wasted by the Seraph's sex, “I need you wetter inside, Baby.”

Barely able to speak, Castiel nodded. “I can help with that,” he finally managed to say.

Dean was grateful for whatever magic the angel could perform and rose up to his knees, relieved. He tilted his hips and spit into his hand, working the wetness over the expanse of his manhood.

“ _Cas_ ...”

The pet name escaped the man's lips as half a question, being all he could manage to say in terms of confirming readiness and consent.

The angel only moaned and nodded in reply, somehow fuck-drunk already.

Dean put both hands on Castiel's knees and pressed himself to his tightness. Wet heat like he'd never known kissed the head of his cock. It sucked at the tip and begged him to enter: it was all he had in him to not push into Cas all at once. Sheathing his full length inside the angel fast and hard would have been easy, too easy. Instead, he teased both of them in equal measure, throwing small strokes at the entrance as dwarven hints of the storm to come.

The angel seemed to be in a trace, muttering again in his own language. If he had been anyone else, Dean would have thought he was speaking in tongues.

“I'm praying, Dean,” the angel explained, hardly able to form sentences the man could understand, “I'm praying to _you._ ”

He looked up, doe-eyed but hungry, tugging at the hunter's hips.

Their eyes met and Dean could not hold back another moment. Slow, the man pushed himself into the angel a quarter inch at a time - deep, burying himself to the hilt in one drawn out stroke. Neither of them looked away, unwilling to take themselves from the other now, and the man touched the angel's face.

Castiel watched Dean's expression soften as he entered him, felt his body stretch to take the man's stony flesh and then relax as he seated himself inside. The hunter spit into his palm and wrapped it around the angel's cock, fist pulling at it as he began to move within him.

The Seraph shattered into a thousand pieces, each one savage and searching. Growling, the angel fell through the earth below him hard, catching everything around him on fire as he tumbled. He reached for Dean, to steady himself against the man's solid form, only to find that he too was falling, fast.

The man paired each stroke of his hand to a matching thrust of hips, keeping time with himself at the onset of every plunge: wetter, harder than the one before. He was seeking the sweet spot he knew hid inside the angel – searching for the root of his pleasure, to synchronize it, inside and out.

Deep became deeper – fast, faster - Pleasure. Heat. Dean inside him, on him, everywhere, whispering to him, soothing him with hands and words only to break him in two with his next expedition inside.

In one thrust, Cas fell sideways out of himself and into Dean, snapping back and bringing pieces of his hunter back with him. He trembled with delight, with want, pushed himself down onto Dean hard, skewered himself on the man's length and ruined their rhythm. The hunter laughed, answered back even harder, a fever pitch borne from words the angel spoke but couldn't quite hear. They spiraled off into the ether together, tumbled and fell forever.

He finally found the man sweating in the madness; he cradled his face, clutched at his jaw, and Dean brought the angel back to reality by begging him to come, sucking at his fingers as they neared his mouth.

This was not what Dean had imagined Cas' sex would be. He'd fantasized soft laughter, shy smiles and unnecessary apologies. But never this. The angel was Base: Feral. The man had not expected such intensity from someone so new to the concept of intimacy, let alone a being that spent most of its time _incorporeal._ His life flashed before his eyes as he fucked himself deeper and deeper inside the surprisingly carnal thing spread out beneath him, hard and wet and wanting.

“You're beautiful, Cas.” Dean moved his free hand over every part of Castiel that he could reach, bending low to kiss what pieces of the angel fell under his mouth, “ _So_ beautiful.” He thrust deliberate and deep, gripping the angel hard - too hard - and tried to speak again, but the words fell from his mouth and disappeared into nowhere; Castiel's own sounds drowned him out.

Man and angel moved together as one - hips and hands and thighs - both of them forgetting where they ended and the other began, for so long that they lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours of plunging into wetness, heat, pumping, gripping, unforgiving thickness, secrets whispered in dead languages. Dean folded Cas into a dozen different positions, and the angel demanded they try a dozen more, but each time they ended up back where they began: face-to-face, unable to look away from each other for more than a moment or two before crying out to be returned.

The angel never thought he could feel so much from inside a body. A vessel, so limiting, was his vehicle of sensation now and he was more grateful to Jimmy Novak than he had ever been. Pleasure kept him in tempo with Dean, pushed him forward and backward in time, made him reach for the man and lace their fingers together. The hunter kissed at their fist, his other hand still thudding in rhythm against the angel's stiffness, crashing into the base and stretching up the length only to start again. Cas stirred, arched his back and bucked against the man, delirious with bliss. Dean pitched his hips low, pushed deep with one thrust and bottomed out inside the angel - _hard_.

Castiel froze, eyes blown in ecstasy. What had the man hit inside him? Dean knew what this expression meant and smiled huge: he'd been here countless times himself.

“Talk to me, Baby,” Dean moaned, his own edges beginning to blur as he started to misplace himself within the angel.

The Seraph's body sang in reply to the hunter but no words made it to Cas' lips. His cock wept again, a steady flow now for Dean to taste again and again; he massaged it as he moved his hips in a wide circle, swung out in a huge arc before coming back around to reseat himself inside again.

“Dean.”

Cas moaned so low, the man could barely hear him. Dean knew he'd unhinged the door he'd been searching for: that spot deep inside, hiding a pleasure most men did not allow themselves to know. He locked his knees in place and began to plunge himself in earnest now - hitting that spot consistently was his new focus.

“ _Dean_ ,” the angel's voice changed pitch as he was fucked and it became louder this time. His tone wavered but was building, building. The man knew what Cas was nearing and had to take a breath for fear of meeting him there too soon himself.

“Dean, what's _happening_?” The angel was not ignorant but couldn't identify exactly what he was feeling. Nothing he'd ever perceived tasted quite as sharp as this demanding wave.

“Let it come, Baby,” Dean spoke through a jaw clenched against his own pleasure, “I'm here.”

The man slowed his thrusts just barely, each now even more calculated than before: he would push in, carefully measured so his swollen head would land hard _just_ where Castiel needed it, then a pause, a breath, then withdraw to start again, all the while massaging the thickness in his fist.

The angel was dancing on the edge, a fever about to break. His cock was lavender, a monster in Dean's hand as he squeezed and stroked it, so thick and ready to come that he longed to have it between his lips one more time. Cas groaned at the thought of that, clear drops of pleasure escaping his sex again, and Dean made a show of bringing them to his mouth one by one.

“You taste _so goddamned good_ , _Angel_ ,” Dean was drunk, his manhood bucking inside Cas who clamped down hard around it in reply.

That was it.

That's what pushed the angel over the edge.

Cas belted Dean's name, half slurring, half yelling it now as his insides started an unstoppable cascade of contractions around the man's length.

“That's it, Baby,” Dean barked, biting the inside of his cheek, “ _Come on it, Cas!_ ”

Castiel fell apart. Inarticulate, he fucked up into Dean's fist just as hard and fast as the man was pumping down into him. The angel exploded in what felt to him like slow motion.

Time seemed to stop as the Seraph began to empty himself. Liquid sex splashed up onto Dean and dripped thick down his abs, catching in his hair and falling to the base of his cock. Cas cried out to the man, his shouts stifled through convulsions of pleasure. Dean answered, plunging deep as the angel released again, long strands of silver thudding over his own neck, chest, and stomach. The man's fist was coated next and he started to slow its rhythm as it became cloaked, but Castiel begged him not to stop. With renewed vigor, Dean milked the cock in his hand and Cas began chanting words of Enochian over and over.

Dean felt himself swell, continuing to thrust into Cas and leaking deep inside him. Castiel was not done: he did not let Dean slow his pace, instead grinding down against him, and the man - having attempted some semblance of pacing before now - truly lost his grip.

The angel took both of Dean's hands in his, placed one on either of his hips and demanded to be taken -  _hard_. Dean obliged, gripping his waist and pounding into him, more machine than man, fucking harder than he knew he should.

Not only did Castiel take it, he begged for more.

“Please, Dean, _harder_ ,” he pleaded, taking his own borrowed cock in his hands, still raging hard and stroking it in time to the man's berserk thrusts.

“There, Dean – yes, _there!_ ”

Dean was lost.  
So lost.

The man forgot where he was.  
Who he was.  
What he was.

He was  
          so goddamned  
_lost_

deep inside  
                 this perfect _thing_  
                                           that _loves him_  
  
_that's begging him -_  
                                not to stop

 _coming_ for him -  
_again?  
                                   still._

so  
     wet  
_so_  
                tight  
_so_  
                               _perfect_

_ohmyfuckinggodcascascas_

“ _Castiel!_ ” Dean cried, using the angel's full name in the face of his crashing pleasure - sweating, crazed, his grip on Cas' waist growing even more maddeningly tight.

“ _I … I'm ..._ ”

The man pulled Cas' hips off the ground and thrust up into him, pounding as merciless iron.

“ _Yes, Dean!_ ” the angel cried, fucking his own fist, desperate for his hunter to splash himself inside, “ _Please!_ ”

Spilling himself in Castiel's name, Dean turned inside out. The man came so hard, he heard _voices_. Whispers bounced between his ears and he felt bones crack under the strain of his release. Over and over, he tensed and relaxed only to tense again as he pumped the angel full - so goddamned _full_ \- of what he had to give.

The man was not a man now but an animal. He roared to Heaven, daring it to stop him. He shouted at God for denying both of them this for so long. He was ecstatic and furious and content and complete and quaking. Legs burning, arms weak and shaking, throat hoarse and body trembling like a leaf, he took a breath and brought himself back - back to Cas, back to his angel, to help him through this adventure one more time.

Castiel saw and felt Dean climax and his insides pulsed, again wringing the man's entire length; this time, he came in a soft wave around the liquid weight of everything inside him. Colors shot into his vision, red and purple, and he collapsed. Dean was throbbing but totally spent, a soaked wreck watching in disbelief as the angel spilled all over them both one more time. The man whispered sweet to him, helped him through the last vestiges of this second flood, catching what he could in his hands and bending low to lap at what he'd missed. Thick and warm, Dean took as much of the angel's essence into himself as he could, savoring the taste and the feeling. Cas leaned forward and licked at the man's chest where he'd splashed just inches from his wound, then pulled Dean down to kiss him on the lips.

Their mouths met panting, both of them intoxicated and shattered. They fell slowly into each other, into reverent silence, equally resting on and wrapped up in one another - totally annihilated.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a long time before Castiel remembered how to speak.

“Dean ... tha -”

_A long time._

“That was ... ” the angel finally said.

Dean had his usual stockpile of flippant comments tucked away for moments just like this.

He threw them all away.

“I love you, Cas,” the man said instead, mouth pressed against the angel's neck. His words tripped down Castiel's collarbone and fell into the dimple of his throat, “I _love_ you,” the hunter whispered again, “ _I love you._ ”

They were wrapped around each other - arms and hands and legs and feet - soaked with sweat and more. The angel pulled just enough of himself away to smooth damp strands of hair from Dean's face.

He knew how hard this was for the man.

“I don't deserve you,” Castiel said for the fourth or fifth time that day, followed again by, “I'm sorry.”

The hunter put a finger to Cas' lips, hoping to quiet him. He needed to forget where they were and what awaited them just a little longer.

Cas moved the silencing digit away.

“Before I met you, Dean, I did not know what it meant to _want,_ or to  _choose_.”

The Seraph caught the man's eyes in a bottomless gaze, touched his face, "Or to _love_."

Placing his palm to the angel's chest, Dean found it wet. He smiled, feeling Castiel's heart beat under his fingertips.

"I _wanted_ you. I _chose_ you. I _loved_ you. And you _gave yourself_ to _me,_ " Cas repeated himself, his disbelief making him run out of words, "To _me_."

Dean curled himself around Castiel and the pair kissed, mouths parting to each other with the heat of a bond that could only be called _profound_.

"I _need_ you to understand, Dean.”

The man put his lips to the angel's forehead and reached up to fix his impossibly ruined hair.

They stayed clinging to each other there in the half-light, the fire beside them casting long shadows over their skin as it began to die. Cas aimlessly traced patterns from its flickering glow across the line of Dean's bare hip, and the man was softly snoring in minutes – utterly exhausted.

Even though Castiel didn't need to sleep, he pulled Dean close and forced himself to try.


	10. Epilogue

It was still dark – rather, it was still the dark gray they'd come to call Night in this place. Dean was jostled awake, the angel he'd been using as a pillow shifting under him. He smiled to himself and stretched his limbs one after the next, each stiff from so much pleasurable work and from an equal amount of sleeping on the ground.

“Ready to go again, Baby?” he teased Cas, smiling as his eyes adjusted to their now fireless cave. The man was genuinely happy: happier than he'd been in longer than he could remember.

Castiel was silent.

Dean was eager to bathe him in kisses and more, one more time. He could not believe what they'd shared, let alone that it was _with Cas_. The man imagined himself rolling over to worship the angel with his mouth again, coaxing him into another round.

This time, he would ask Cas to fuck him. It had been a long time since he'd been full of anything, and he knew Castiel would be _amazing_. Somehow, his cock was already hard again; it jumped at the notion.

Dean touched himself and a jolt of electricity shot through his body, dizzying. The man was suddenly desperate to know what Cas' thickness felt like tucked away inside him, plunging into him over and over. 

Still smiling and reaching for his lover, Dean turned to tease the angel again. As he moved, the hunter noticed with a start that his own body was clean and dry, the physical evidence of their love-making completely gone. There was also a fresh, albeit tattered, bandage at his chest.

Realization set in - hard.

Dean reached again for Cas, a different kind of desperate this time.

The angel was gone.

  
  
  


_-fin_

 


End file.
